by Jami Alden
She wasn’t ready to separate herself from her human furnace, but this position was too close, too intimate, too reminiscent of the times she’d draped herself over his hard body and explored the hard planes, starting at his neck, trailing across his shoulders, down his chest but never going any farther.
Too shy and inexperienced to give him the pleasure they both craved.
She shifted, turning in his arms to try to face outward.
Tommy let out a sharp grunt and tightened his arms around her. “Dammit, will you stop squirming around like that?”
“Sorry,” she snapped, shifting again, “I’m just trying to get more comfortable—” Every muscle froze as her butt ground into the cradle of his hips.
She swallowed hard, her entire body flushing as she felt the unmistakable heat and hardness of him pressed into the flesh of her hip.
“Shit,” he breathed, barely audible.
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice high and annoyingly breathy. “I know it’s just friction, like a reflex.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice crackling with an electric heat that drew her eyes up like a magnet. His own were so full of heat she was surprised her borrowed clothes didn’t start to smoke. “Just reflex.”
In the next breath his mouth was covering hers, his big hand cupping the back of her head, holding her still for his kiss.
Kate’s lips parted eagerly at the first thrust of his tongue. She’d told herself she imagined it, that her memories of kissing Tommy Ibarra had been exaggerated, overblown. Her brain, soaked in the throes of first lust, followed by the worst trauma she’d ever known, had infused the memories of that summer with a kind of intensity that couldn’t have existed.
She couldn’t have been more wrong, and the realization shook her to the core. Her memories of Tommy’s kiss, his touch, didn’t come close to what she was feeling now. It was like being thrust into a vortex full of heat and light, where nothing mattered but the taste of him, the soft rasp of his tongue against hers as he tasted every corner of her mouth. She opened her mouth wider, pressed her lips harder, sucked his tongue into her mouth like she was starving for the taste of him.
This. This was the reason she’d broken the rules, defied her father, been willing to give Tommy anything and everything he wanted, even if he was too much of a gentleman to ask for it.
He wasn’t a gentleman now, cupping his hands under her ass and shifting her so her knees fell on either side of his thighs, straddling him. A harsh, animal sound came from his throat as she settled against him, her gasp echoing his as the rock-hard column of his erection pushed against her core.
She twined her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers through the thick silk of his hair as she rocked against him. A hollow ache opened up inside her, a soul-deep hunger she’d only ever felt with Tommy. That feeling that made her fingers clutch and her lips devour, as if she could never get enough.
Desire was a tight knot between her legs. Every brush of his body against hers made that knot pulse, pulling the muscles of her belly tight. She loved the way he touched her, his strong fingers curled into the slim curve of her hips, holding her tight, pressing her closer.
One hand stole up under the hem of her shirt, and she moaned against the silky skin of his throat, at the feel of his callused palm against the bare skin of her back, around to her rib cage, sliding up to swallow up the curve of her breast.
Another cry bubbled up from her throat as his thumb brushed the tight point of her nipple. The soft touch sent a rush of heat and wetness between her legs, the pleasure pulling so tight it bordered on pain.
The storm, the surroundings, the bone-jarring cold, everything fell away. There was nothing in her world but heat and need and that endless hollow ache that was created by Tommy, his touch, his taste, and could only be soothed by the same.
“Tommy,” she whispered, taking the lobe of his teeth between her teeth. “Tommy,” she repeated, in that single word telling him everything she needed.
He groaned and started to pull the hem of her shirt up her back. Kate felt a strange vibration against her inner thigh.
Tommy stilled. “Son of a bitch, what the hell am I doing,” he muttered, pushing Kate back so he could fumble in the pocket of his cargo pants.
Kate scrambled off his lap, feeling like she’d been doused by a bucket of cold water as Tommy put the phone to his ear.
What was he doing? What was she doing? was the more important question. She crossed her arms over her chest, willing her body to calm down as she listened to Tommy greet CJ. She closed her eyes and gave silent thanks to her friend, whose phone call had stopped her from doing something very, very stupid.
Though it shamed her to her core to admit it, she knew that if Tommy’s phone hadn’t started buzzing, Kate would have let him pull her to the floor and have raw, down and dirty sex right there.
In the very place her brother had been murdered.
All traces of desire fled, chased by shame and self-disgust.
And a small dose of fear. Because Tommy had just proven to her that he was just as dangerous to her today as he’d been to a naive sixteen-year-old caught in the throes of her first love.
She swallowed hard, tugged her sweatshirt back in place, and smoothed a hand over her damp hair.
“Yeah, I’m with her right now.” His gaze caught hers, and she saw that the flames had disappeared. Once again his expression was flat, hard, as though he hadn’t had his hand up her shirt, squeezing her bare breast mere seconds before.
But the hot color slashing his cheekbones told a different story. That and… Kate couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting down the front of his body to the front of his pants. Her mouth went dry at the sight of him, his erection clearly outlined against the worn fabric.
She quickly turned away. The shack suddenly seemed to shrink in size, the walls squeezing in. There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen for both her and the huge, hard man who could steal her reason with one touch of his lips.
She didn’t turn around as he ended his phone call. She heard the door open and shivered at the rush of cool, damp air.
“The storm’s let up,” Tommy said gruffly. “I think it’s safe to get moving if you’re up to it.”
Kate nodded sharply and pulled her shoes on. She followed Tommy out, keeping up with his brisk pace, ignoring the way her shoes were squishing around her feet and rubbing her heels raw.
The urge to address what had happened bubbled up, but every time she opened her mouth to speak she caught herself, the right words never seeming to form.
The silence grew heavier until it felt like a force field between them. Tommy’s expression was closed, hard, leaving no doubt to his mood.
Kate climbed silently into his truck. Though her insides were roiling with a mass of confusion and questions, instinct told her to keep them to herself. Trying to talk to Tommy now would be like poking at an angry lion, and she wasn’t prepared to handle the claws.
There was nothing to gain by dissecting what had happened. The smartest thing to do was to follow his lead, close herself off, and act like nothing had ever happened.
Chapter 12
The squeak of the hinges made Tricia’s blood run cold. Followed by heavy footsteps on the floor. One, two, three, four, five steps to her door.
Going by the sliver of light that appeared and disappeared at the bottom of the boarded-up window across from the bed she was cuffed to, she was in her third full day of captivity. In that short time certain things had been seared into her brain. The squeak of the door hinges. The number of times hard-soled shoes would thunk on the floor before she heard the creak of the doorknob.
The feel of his palm exploding across her cheekbone, slamming into her lip.
The door started to ease open, her heart thudding in her chest like a wild bird was trapped inside. A scream bubbled up in her throat, but she held it back. She’d already learned the hard way that wherever she was, it was far enough from others that no one co
uld hear her, no matter how loud she screamed.
The door swung open, and his shape was momentarily backlit by the light in the hallway. But other than a general outline of his body, to her frustration she couldn’t make out his features. The room she was in was kept dark, and though he always brought a candle with him, with his hood pulled up over his head and his face obscured by shadows, she was unable to get a clear look at her captor.
Part of her was comforted by this. In movies and books, if the bad guy let a victim see his face, it usually meant he was going to kill her.
The thought was like a drop of gasoline added to the rapidly dwindling flame of hope that he would eventually set her free.
“Hello, sweetheart.” His voice called softly through the darkness as he closed the door behind him. The gentle, almost tender tone made her stomach flip with nausea. She heard him shuffling in the darkness, smelled sulfur as he struck a match and lit the candle that sat in the middle of the little table across from the bed.
“Aren’t you going to greet me?” Though his tone was still soft, cajoling, now there was an edge to it.
Her lips, swollen and sore from yesterday’s beating, pressed mutinously together.
“Tricia,” he said, a warning. “You know what will happen if you don’t treat me with courtesy and respect.”
She wanted to be tough, like Katniss from The Hunger Games, and not give in so easily to this sick creep. But fear that he might beat her again, or worse, compelled her to obey. “Hello, sir,” she choked through a throat burned raw from her own screams.
“I brought you another special treat,” he said, and placed a grocery bag on the table along with a cardboard drink holder with three drink cups nestled inside.
I don’t want anything to do with you or any of your treats, freak, she thought, but didn’t dare say the words out loud.
She swallowed hard, watching in silence as he removed the cups from their cardboard holder. “I brought you a milk shake from Ike’s,” he said. His smile gleamed at her from the shadows and did nothing to reassure her. “I wasn’t sure what flavor, so I got one of each.”
Oh, God, the thought of a strawberry milk shake, cold and sweet on her tongue, made her mouth water and her empty stomach clench. He hadn’t fed her in what must have been a couple of days, not since she’d spit the sandwich in his face and gotten the crap beaten out of her.
“I don’t like milk shakes,” she said, hating the way her voice quavered. She wanted to show him she was strong, defiant, that she would never give in. Instead, she sounded exactly how she felt: tired, weak, and very, very scared.
“Now, now, don’t lie.” The edge was back, and she didn’t miss the way his fingers curled into a fist on the table. “I saw you there just last week with your sister and your father. I heard you tell them it was the best milk shake you’d ever had.”
Bile choked her at the thought of this person—no, he wasn’t a person, because human beings didn’t steal people away, hide them in dark rooms, and punch them repeatedly in the face when they didn’t get their way—this awful creep stalking her, watching her, listening to her conversations, and, oh God, being so close to her family.
“I would have brought you another sandwich,” he said mildly, “but I figured your jaw was still pretty sore.”
Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she could feel his stare on her, flat, menacing, so cold it sent a shudder through her.
She realized then what she’d probably known all along. Though her favorite books and movies featured kick-ass heroines who would die before they showed any sign of weakness to their captors, Tricia was not a badass.
She could read all she wanted about girls who were trained to protect vampires or play all the war games she wanted on her computer. But when push came to shove, even the self-defense classes her father had insisted she and Brooke take hadn’t been any use. She hadn’t been able to stop him from grabbing her. She’d fought her hardest, but he’d easily overpowered her.
Though the thought made her empty stomach roil, she realized that if she wanted a chance in hell to survive, she was going to have to be nice to him. “It is sore,” she said, rubbing her jaw with her free hand. “Thank you for being so considerate.”
She could see the lines of his shoulders soften. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Which flavor? Strawberry, vanilla, or chocolate?”
“Strawberry,” she choked out. Followed by “please,” when she saw his shadow stiffen. “Please may I have the strawberry one,” she added quickly for good measure.
“One strawberry milk shake, coming right up,” he said with a weird, childish giggle that made her skin crawl.
He crossed to the bed and handed it to her. She took it in her free hand.
He settled on the edge of the mattress, his head turned away from her as he lifted another of the cups. “Strawberry is my favorite too,” he said, as though confiding some wonderful secret. “But I’ll settle for chocolate today if it makes you happy.”
The nausea roiling in her stomach at his proximity was no match for the hunger that had all but gnawed at her. Her hand shook as she closed her lips over the straw, her eyes closing involuntarily as the sweet, creamy flavor hit her tongue, thick and cold, chasing away the stifling heat of her prison. She sucked it down as fast as she could, ignoring the pain of brain freeze as she savored the delicious cold drink. For a moment, she could pretend that she was magically transported back to Ike’s, squabbling with Brooke about whether they should get a pint of vanilla or chocolate to take home.
Like none of this had ever happened.
“All I want is to make you happy,” he said softly, and like that Tricia came thudding back to reality. She opened her eyes and saw not the gleaming black-and-white tiles and highly polished wood tables of Ike’s but the dark, dirty shadows of her prison.
Stuck here with a man ready to turn on her at any moment.
“You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded hesitantly, and the milk shake started to curdle in her stomach. She put it aside.
She forced herself not to flinch as he reached a hand to her face.
Willed herself to sit utterly still, not let any sign of her revulsion show as he traced his fingers over the cheekbone that still throbbed from his blows. “I didn’t like having to hurt you. You know that, right? I never want to have to hurt you again.”
Tricia nodded again, not sure what he expected her to say.
“When I touch you, I only want you to feel pleasure.” His hand moved from her cheek to her hair, stroking down its length in a caress that was eerily tender.
Loverlike.
The milk shake churned in her stomach. Cramps seized her and her mouth filled with saliva as the little she drank threatened to come spewing back up. She forced herself to keep it down, afraid of what he might do if she threw up all over him.
Though another beating would be more welcome than what he had in mind.
“Can—can I go to the bathroom please?” she asked in a small, shaky voice. “It’s been awhile and I really need to.” It wasn’t a lie. Though he’d limited her water, Tricia’s bladder felt like it was about to burst. He’d provided a plastic bin as a bedpan, but the few times Tricia had tried to use it, awkward and one-handed, she’d ended up peeing mostly on the bed and the floor.
His hand froze on her shoulder and he was quiet several seconds. No doubt contemplating if her need was real or a ploy to get away from his unwelcome touch.
“Please,” she said, infusing her plea with a desperation she didn’t have to fake.
“You were so mad the other day when you had to change the sheets,” she said, a shudder going through her at the way he’d berated her when he’d walked in and been hit by the unmistakable odor.
“You’re like an animal, wallowing in your filth and stink,” he’d said. With her face throbbing and head pounding from the recently delivered beating, it hadn’t been hard to bite back a sniping comment that if he’d uncuff her, she migh
t make it to the small bathroom more than once a day.
He nodded and she felt a tremor of relief as he twisted his body and fumbled in his pocket. Forced herself not to scramble when his weight pressed into her as he leaned over to unlock the cuff from the metal bed frame.
Once free, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and scrambled to her feet, only to have her limbs turn to water underneath her.
Her head swam, her vision dipping and diving about the room, her head suddenly fuzzy as she struggled to remember what she was doing, why she was in the dark with a shadowy figure holding her upper arm in an iron-hard grip.
He’s drugging me, she thought in a brief moment of clarity as she shuffled across the room at his urging. Something powerful and fast acting, if she was able to feel it so quickly after consuming less than half of her milk shake.
She wavered a little as he pushed the door open to what looked like a small closet, her vision tunneling as she tried to process what was going on.
Right, the bathroom, she remembered, becoming acutely aware of her body’s urgent need.
“Go ahead.” The voice came out of a void, echoing and bouncing around her head like when she had gas at the dentist’s office. He gave her a little shove and pushed her into the small room.
She started to reach for the waistband of her shorts then stopped, the drug not enough to wipe away all shreds of basic modesty and outright revulsion at the thought of taking her pants down in front of this creep.
“Privacy” was all she could get out of lips that felt rubbery and not of her body.
As he had done the last time, he shook his head. “We have to build trust, my love. Until then I have to keep an eye on you.”
Hot, embarrassed tears ran down her cheeks as she pulled down her pants and sat on the toilet. He turned his head slightly away. The heat of anger and embarrassment cut through the fog of the drug enough for her to take advantage of the fact that he wasn’t watching her closely.
Before, she’d been too terrified, her eyes unused to the dark, to pay any attention to this part of her prison. Now her eyes scanned the shadows eagerly, looking for any means of escape, anything that could be used as a weapon.
